Hidan: Highest Priest of Jashin
by olashorty
Summary: It's been a couple of weeks since Shikamaru took him out, and he's reflecting on his past life inside of the hole. As he ponders, he'll have to decide: what does Jashin really have in store for him and who is his real enemy? Pairings in later chapters.
1. Chapter 1: Humble Beginnings

**Author's Note:**

**So, it's been over a decade since I've written fanfiction. Recently got the urge to give it a shot again. Would love any and all feedback: please read, review, favorite, etc. I'll try my best to start going through stories to do the same, :). **

**Housekeeping: I don't own Naruto. I've taken some liberties with Hidan, so, while he'll mainly be in-character, you may notice some tweaks here and there. **

**Cheers,**

**Steve.**

* * *

Clumps of wet dirt crumpled in my mouth and I spat them out, wriggling my tongue. It'd been weeks since I'd been trapped in this hole, and though I didn't need food or water, even my patience was starting to wear thin.

"LET ME OUT OF HERE!"

I hadn't called for Jashin-sama today. After I shouted his name the fiftieth time, I was sure he'd appear, wonderful and awash in blood. I was positive he'd reattach my head to my body and we'd celebrate my resurgence by massacring a small village.

But he still hadn't come.

Neither had Kakuzu, for that matter. Given how much time had passed, he had to be dead—even if he was a godless heathen, he liked having me around too much to leave me here. Those Konoha bastards must have taken him out.

_No partner. No god. No arms_.

If I knew converting to Jashinism would have led me into this mess, I probably would have stayed a simple shop-keeper in Yugakure. If only I didn't have so much _bloodlust_.

Even as a kid, I often had to blink away visions of death: my classmates' limbless bodies strewn on the ground; my teachers in their dying moments, blood spilling from their lips. I didn't tell anyone though—not my parents, not my best friend, Kyuuki. For a village that had already forgotten what war was even like, I would have been the worst of all omens.

So, I kept it all to myself until I killed them all.

My name is Hidan, highest priest of Jashin. And this is my story.

* * *

I was born a little over twenty years ago, on a cold, April morning. Even when I was five, I was told no hawks screamed at my birth like they did for everyone else's—my mother always thought it was a little strange. Instead, they were as mum as statues, as if I'd stolen their songs.

"But not everyone needs to have a hawk announce their birth," my mother consoled me, after she told me for the eightieth time about my birth story. I was still a little boy then—I couldn't tell whether she was lying or not. When every other person was born, shrill hawk calls filled the village, echoing through the walls.

But I gave her a little smile instead. _Thanks, mom. Lie to me._

I didn't need hawks to tell me whether or not I was different, though—all I needed to do was look at my baby sister. My aunts and uncles and cousins would come by, playing with her fat cheeks, teasing her, laughing. All I felt was disgust roiling around my stomach. True, Ayaka was a cute girl, _I guess_, but all she did was eat, burp and poop all day. She was _annoying_.

With all of their ooing and ahing, I just went to the kitchen and pulled out the pine drawer. Inside was my mom's sharp carving knife—the same knife she used to cut quail meat for dinner last week. My eyes were drawn to the glittering edge, the serrated grooves—I couldn't help licking my lips as my thumbs stroked it.

_I want to see blood on it._

I would have taken it out and stuffed it into my small overall pockets, but my father was staring at me, as if he could see the demon inside me. His paint brush was on the table—my fantasies from the knife must have ruined his calligraphy session. He walked over to me and shut the drawer with a soft press of his fingers.

"Go play with your cousins, Hidan," he groaned.

He had reason to be annoyed—by now, I'd already gotten caught three times playing with knives in my room. I'd heard his conversations with my mom after the last time they'd caught me—I may have been five, but I wasn't _stupid_.

"Something's strange about that boy," he complained. "He's different somehow."

He didn't know how right he was. In a village of happy-go-lucky hippies, I was the only one retaining some shinobi instincts—like I was born to do it. He could try to smother me with my bumbling cousins as much as he wanted but there was no changing that.

I went back into our living room, heavy with the scent of jasmine incense. My cousin Takuya was here, dark-haired and chortling for no reason. He was a little older than me, so he was in second grade—I was still in kindergarten.

"Want to play Tour Guides?" he simpered.

Tour Guides was this stupid game that most of the kids in the village liked to play. In it, one person ran a tour shop and the other was a visitor. The tour shop owner then took the visitor around the make believe town, showing them imaginary tour sites. It was all preparation for when we grew up to become tour guides most of the other people in the village.

It was a stupid game and I hated everything about it.

"How about we play Shinobi instead?" I shot back. I wasn't surprised when he grumbled in reply—Shinobi was a game I'd made up and harassed the other kids in school with. According to _my_ game, we made teams—one side was a team of shinobi, protecting someone. And the other team was another set of shinobi, trying to kill the target.

And so, each team of shinobi fought to the death to win. It was a great game—my heart thumped in my ears last time I'd gotten kids to play. But when I'd almost strangled a girl in my class, my teacher put me on time out.

"I don't wanna," Takuya whined. _Ugh. _Not like I would force him—something told me he'd lose on purpose.

Before long, my aunts and uncles had to go—it was Monday tomorrow, and the village would be getting a fresh set of tourists, so everyone had to prepare to guide them. The hot springs would be extra hot tomorrow. And for us kids, we had school.

Not that I cared. Each day was like the last, so it didn't matter to me—nothing did.

_Lord, rescue me from this place_.

What I didn't know then was that even the voices of five-year-olds can reach Jashin. And soon, he'd be showing me a blood-colored world I didn't even know was possible.


	2. Chapter 2: Meeting Death

Chapter 2

"Who can tell the class proper etiquette for greeting tourists?" our teacher asked.

The clock's tick rippled along the walls and I tapped my crayon against the desk. I wasn't allowed to use pencils anymore after I'd tried to stab one of my classmates through the hand. I'd called that one the Pain Game: whoever screamed first lost.

Apparently people didn't like it as much as I did.

At the front of the room, our teacher had already gotten a volunteer: a green-haired girl with baggy overalls. Her hairline was practically to her eyebrows and her bangs nearly covered her eyes. She whipped her back forwards in a carefully practiced bow.

"Excellent!" Miyato-sensei commended, his voice as high as the morning sun. I clapped my head against the desk.

A rough nylon sandal pushed into my calf, hard. "Hey," I grunted, snarl already on my face before I realized who it was.

Kyuuki.

In a village of wimps and losers, Kyuuki was my only friend. She was just as much a rebel as I was, the only one willing to play Shinobi with me when all the other kids were shivering in fear. The first time we'd played, I decked her straight in the face to get to the target she was protecting. All she did was lick the blood from her busted lip like it was candy-flavored lip gloss. It was like she enjoyed the thrill of a fight as much as I did.

And when she tossed her black hair back onto her shoulders and kicked me hard in my stomach, I knew we were one and the same.

But today, she must have had a death wish to be kicking me this hard. _Ow_. She'd done it again; she must have noticed me daydreaming.

"What?" I growled. At the front of the classroom, the teacher was still simpering about how to hold open the door for villagers. I didn't know why: we all knew the routine by heart at this point. Eyes down, back bent, arm extended, feet together. The absolute image of servitude.

I hated everything about it.

Kyuuki threw her head to the side, towards the window and the world outside. The jumble of foreign accents danced in the air like spinning kites and dove into my ears. Whatever was going on outside had to be more interesting than the garbage we were learning in class.

"Miyato-sensei?" Kyuuki asked. "Can I go to the bathroom?"

Kyuuki'd timed this well: another student that Miyato-sensei had called up to the front had screwed up pouring tea. Miyato-sensei hated _a lot_ of things, but if there was one thing he hated the most, it was bad tea service.

He barely acknowledged her as she stood up and pranced out of the room. She left the door open, and, as quietly as I could, I stood up and treaded towards the eastern wall. A couple of the students started oo-ing to get me in trouble until I shot them the strongest death glare I could muster.

If they got me caught, I'd skin them with my crayon, so help me.

Thankfully, Miyato-sensei's back was still turned as he rapped Jousuke's arm with two of his fingers, showing him the proper angle to hold the kettle. Further down the hall, Kyuuki was beckoning me with her right hand, telling me to hurry up.

Just as one foot crossed over the threshold, Miyato-sensei's voice stampeded towards me.

"Where do you think you're going, Hidan?"

_Crap. _How had he noticed me? I thought I'd been as quiet as a mouse.

But screw it. Even if I'm not quiet, I'm certainly fast enough.

"Bathroom!" I shouted, and before Miyato-sensei could barrel after me, I was with Kyuuki, as far away from school as we could possibly get.

Our breaths were as ragged as the weeds beneath us as we ran non-stop through the crowds of people. We knew better than to stop or take it easy: the last time we ditched class, Miyato-sensei had somehow managed to keep up with us. For a tour guide, he sure could run pretty fast.

But we should have watched where we were going, because soon, Kyuuki ran straight into someone's leg. It was like hitting a brick wall. She bounced back and flopped onto the dirt beside me.

"Watch where you're going, brat. You got my pants dirty," a feminine voice grunted.

In front of us was a blonde in a black cloak, buttoned from the top to the bottom. I didn't know how she could stand it in this heat. Even though it was still morning, our village was notoriously hot during the summer.

Kyuuki pulled herself up, dusted off her shorts and shot the woman a scowl. "Let's go, HIdan." She was nearly past the woman until her voice stopped her in her tracks.

"You think you're getting out of this that easy?"

Kyuuki had instincts like mine, so I was sure she heard the edge in the woman's voice like I had. She picked up a rock from the ground and I found a branch. Even if she was a grown-up, we wouldn't go down without a fight—not if we had weapons.

But we must have looked pathetic, because a winding, willowy laugh snaked into our ears. And when I looked into her eyes, she had one finger on the dark-lined lower lid. The lattice of red veins froze me with fear. From the way Kyuuki's legs were quaking, she must have been just as scared as I was.

"Come. If you're that eager to die, I'll have to oblige."

Crap. For once, I wish I'd stayed in school.


End file.
